


i wish i could paint our love, these moments in vibrant hues

by oneforyourfire



Series: The Adventures of Big Boy and His Tiny Love [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: "big boy" kink, M/M, Morning Sex, domestic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5283620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>and it’s been a long while. too, too long since they’d had a chance to do this</p>
<p>aka dads indulging in some morning sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wish i could paint our love, these moments in vibrant hues

yifan is loudest, roughest in the early morning. darker desire without the check of his usual careful, careful regard. his touch is hotter like this, his kisses deeper like this, his hips, fingers, teeth harder like this. yifan drags his nails down the wrinkled mess of jongdae's cotton sleepshirt, digs his fingers into jongdae's ass, but calls him "baby" still, watches him through sleep-heavy eyelashes like jongdae is his everything—still.

and it’s been a long while. too, too long since they’d had a chance to do this.

but yifan’s mother is in town for the week, has taken the twins tao and sehun for the day, granting their parents a short reprieve, a too-infrequent indulgence. this, a quiet, lazy, yifan-rough, yifan-loud morning. jongdae plans on making it count.

jongdae swivels his hips purposefully as he writhes onto the solidity of yifan’s warm, sleep-rumpled body, dragging deliberately over his cock, and yifan hisses, thumbs bruising around his waist. the heat of yifan’s cock, the heft and hardness of it have him rocking down more purposefully, chasing the pressure as yifan handles him just just shy of too rough.

jongdae lives for the chips in yifan's gentle, gentle mask, biting back a smirk even as he pants at the exquisite friction of yifan's cock against his own. he's affected and so so so hard for this, too. and even like this, it's almost too much, so so good even through the cotton of their plaid pajama pants.

jongdae grinds his hips down harder, faster, and yifan's hands are bruising tight—arresting—his waist, just shy of forceful, dragging him now, guiding the pace. he's so, so strong, so, so big, and jongdae shudders, his own hands scrambling up yifan's shirt, anchoring on yifan's stomach, purposefully hard, handling like yifan likes to be handled.

it makes yifan moan even louder, makes his movements even rougher. jongdae's bones rattle from the force, head lolling back to crash against his own shoulder as yifan speeds up, holding him steady as he grinds up. jongdae pinned, trembling, panting, his nails drag up yifan’s straining arms, digging hard into his skin.

but even like this, jongdae is in control. even like this, yifan is desperate for him, giving jongdae exactly what he needs. almost, almost exactly what he needs.

"can i fuck you, big boy?" jongdae drawls, catching yifan's helpless whimper in his mouth in the next instant, as he sags forward into him. angle compromised, he ruts against yifan’s stomach now, and yifan bends his knees, folds his body to grind against jongdae’s ass. jongdae swallows down his every desperate moan as yifan’s fingers dig into his ass, urging him back harder, faster. jongdae’s mouth shifts to drag down yifan’s trembling throat. “let me fuck you, baby.”

yifan’s hands unclench from where they’re anchored on jongdae’s ass to drag up underneath his shirt, tugging it upwards as he glides. he tosses it off in the next instant, palms smoothing over jongdae’s skin. they are carpenter rough, carpenter nimble, warm, achingly familiar, but no less perfect. often, so often, heartbreakingly tender and careful, swiping gently beneath tao’s perpetually teary eyelids, brushing back sehun’s sloppy bangs, holding—cradling—jongdae’s own. but they’re better when they’re harder, more disarming when they’re demanding like this, biting into jongdae’s straining shoulders as he pants that yes, yes, yes, jongdae can fuck him—should, should fuck him right now. yifan turns it around on him, asks jongdae why he hasn’t yet, as he scratches down the length of his spine.

still touching him, squeezing around the nape of his neck, dragging jongdae forward for a heavy kiss, yifan wiggles beneath him as he kicks off his pants and underwear, leaves them in a rumpled mess at the foot of the bed. he bites down on jongdae’s bottom lip, sucks on his tongue, before he pulls away only to grope on their bedside for lube, a condom.

jongdae in the meantime crawls down his body, shuffling until he’s at midthigh, dragging teasing kisses as he works his way up the pale, smooth skin. he scrapes his teeth along the moles, pauses to suck on the ink threading along his hips. with yifan’s cock dragging against his hip, he whispers kisses over the black of the guangzhou city limits. yifan quivers, and jongdae shifts to mouth fully at the woven declaration. property of kim jongdae, jongdae had joked, yifan had carved into his skin. yifan trembles out a gasp, pressing hot and sensitive and pulsing against him.

jongdae kicks off his pants, boxers, too.

he shifts to rest his weight on yifan’s thighs, hums before taking him into his mouth. and yifan is familiar, hot, perfect, a pleasant heat, pleasant stretch between his lips, against his tongue.

jongdae bobs once, twice, tongue fluttering to trace along the head. it has yifan's hands and legs trembling around jongdae's body. "pretend it's my ass," he coaches, slurring the words, slurping obscenely as he traces his tongue up along the underside, blinks up at yifan through his dark eyelashes like he knows yifan hates—loves. "pretend it's that first time i let you fuck me, babe."

and jongdae relishes in his heavy tremor of a response.

louder, rougher, suddenly— beautifully so—yifan pulls jongdae’s hair to hold him steady, fucks into his mouth, sharp, fast, and jongdae gasps around the musky heat. his tongue curls to swirl over the head as he pulls away to pant, stroke, lick—sloppily now, too too affected now.

yifan pulls him up by the hair then, tugging deliciously at the strands near the crown of his head. probably for a kiss, but jongdae wrests himself away to rest against his side instead, pausing to bite the looping of yifan’s scorpion tattoo, before getting back to the task at hand. he shoves up yifan’s wrinkled, wrinkled sleep shirt, nosing along his sternum. there’s another tattoo there, a maple leaf that yifan always squirms about. jongdae spares it a succulent kiss as he works his way to yifan’s dark nipples. he scrapes his teeth, drags his tongue, pulls back to blow hot as yifan shudders, tangles his fingers in jongdae’s hair again. and jongdae relishes in this, too, the way the warm skin puckers in his mouth, the rumble of yifan’s helpless moan he can feel beneath his lips.

jongdae gropes clumsily beside him for the lube as he sucks even harder, bites down. he manages to work it open one-handed, spread it between his fingers one-handed, too, as his free hand squeezes hard, reassuring at yifan’s hip. fingers sufficiently slickened, jongdae eases the first between yifan’s legs. yifan is breathing, so, so hard. jongdae watches his face, his dark brows, his darker eyes, his open mouth as he works in a second finger inside, breathing hard through his mouth, too, thrumming with anticipation as he works him open, easy, eager, perfect.

“want to fuck you so badly,” jongdae confesses, purposefully wet and hot against yifan’s collarbone. “cant wait to be inside you, big boy. can’t want to make you scream.” he curls his fingers purposefully, cruelly, and yifan arches sharply, fingers scrambling down his spine, digging hard into the small of his back.

“please,” he says, demands almost, if only his voice wasn’t so wrecked. heedless with arousal, he whimpers that he really—really, really, faster, harder, more, he’s gonna come—fuck, fuck, fuck he’s gonna fucking—his words break off into a whimper, hands even more urgent as he rasps out another please.

and jongdae is so turned on it, it hurts.

“big boy,” he repeats, strained, shaky, and yifan writhes down even harder, so hot and tight and slick and desperate around his fingers. jongdae eases a third inside, curls them deep, pressing pointedly. yifan’s heels whisper over the mattress. splayed open like that, fucking quivering like that, he’s unbelievably eager, unbelievably hot. “are you ready? can you take me?”

“yes, yes, yes,” yifan gasps. “please, please, please.”

jongdae maneuvers shakily to climb on top of him, trembling fingers clumsily as he slides a condom in place, urges yifan’s legs around his waist.

yifan reaches out for him, and jongdae captures both hands in his own grip. yifan has tao’s and sehun’s name on his wrists, the chinese characters ribboned beneath his lips as he kisses them, guides yifan’s hands to his shoulders.

and it’s been months, months since they’ve been able to do anything but engage in a bathroom quickie handjob, an achingly slow blowjob first thing in the morning. one time—one time last month, jongdae got as far as fingering yifan to the point of whimpered pleas, violent, violent, demands, nails digging into jongdae’s bicep, got as far as promising to fuck him, before their baby monitor had crackled with tao’s pitchy good morning shriek.

it’s been so, so long. long enough for him to hypersensitive to these too-infrequent sensations. and the first breathless push is overwhelming after so, so long. it has him practically seeing stars, jaw falling slack as he moans helplessly.

“fuck,” he manages, breathless, wrecked.

yifan chuckles around a moan. but it’s overwhelming for him, too. the way his eyebrows pinch, his entire body trembles, a sure, sure sign. he’s surging upwards in a shaky undulation in the next second, though, muscles clutching perfectly—too, too perfectly—around jongdae’s cock as he does. he scrapes his approval down jongdae’s tense back.

demanding after a beat, too, clutching desperately, he trembles, tugs jongdae into a hard, hard kiss, groans into it as jongdae retreats, pushes back in.

and yes, fuck, fuck, yes.

“big boy,” jongdae repeats, dropping the word— a prayer—against yifan’s throat, and yifan’s hands are scrambling down his back, blunt nails scraping as he repeats that he wants jongdae to fuck him, fuck him good, fuck him please.

jongdae finds a rhythm three, four thrusts in, trembling still with the hot, hot pleasure, giving the best he can while still—still trying to hold out from coming embarrassingly, frustratingly fast.

yifan,in turn, continues to demand, take. he fucks back enthusiastically, demands like this is what he's due, like jongdae inside of him—but faster, harder, more fuck more—like that’s all he could ever want.

yifan really is a big boy—man. too damn tall for it not be a lot of awkward angling, a lot of awkward, stilted maneuvering to get it right. but it’s worth it—so fucking worth—for how tight and slick and hot he is, how eagerly he clenches around him. worth it for how loudly yifan moans, how hard he grips, how utterly gorgeous he looks flushed and desperate beneath him, blooming with sweat, panting out jongdae’s name.

jongdae maneuvers them even more awkward, more stilted, so he can kiss him, sloppy, morning-breathy as he is. he still tastes like home, like love, love want, like perfection.

jongdae shifts his angle, folding yifan’s long legs over his shoulders as he fukcs into him even faster, and yifan breaks the kiss, collapsing fully into the mattress, head lolling to the side and lips falling open, his entire body a gorgeous tremor of sweaty limbs, helpless sounds.

yifan, he looks so good like that. the best like that. the very, very best, elementally his, and jongdae confesses it into his neck as he fucks him all the faster. but no no no, jongdae’s lust-addled mind protests. no, that’s not right. he probably looked best that night after they’d gotten their yes, when he’d run to the furniture store right after work, had fallen asleep tangled in the pieces of their still unassembled crib, all awkward angles, drool on his chin. or maybe the day they become a family, unshaven, face pallid against the backdrop of their hospital gowns, whispering kisses over sehun’s, tao’s foreheads, careful and so so soft, telling them he was their baba now, that he loved them so, so much. or maybe actually, the morning of their very first father’s day, a raspy happy father’s day by way of greeting, tao’s spitup on the sleeve of his shirt, coffee steam haloing his tired smile as he’d pushed forward jongdae’s own mug. or maybe that friday afternoon five years ago with his cheeks scrunched up to the biggest, gummiest smile as he’d said yes, yes to being jongdae’s forever.

mid-recollection, jongdae is briefly overcome with sentimentality, and he drives into him even faster in gratitude, in love, so much love, trying to give yifan what he’s actively begging for. “you’re so perfect,” he moans. “so fucking gorgeous, baby.”

he drops a dizzy kiss to yifan’s knee, licking absently as he rocks into him fast, erratic.

“touch yourself,” he commands in a ruined rasp. “come come come,” he orders, punctuating every word with an increasingly hard thrust. yifan’s breath leaves his parted lips in broken gasps of yes, yes, yes.

yifan, on edge too, hypersensitive, too, he readily obeys. three hurried strokes, one bite to his inner thigh, and he’s gasping, arching, clenching, tensing.

he’s even more gorgeous like that, his entire face pinched in pleasure.

it serves as permission. jongdae, he’s allowed, allowed to—

hot, hot pleasure, completion soak into his skin, his fucking bones, drowning out everything else. he collapses forward, the air leaving his chest as he crashes against yifan’s bent, trembling knees. his cock jerks, his entire body lax with it, thrumming, sated, drained.

yifan’s touch along his skin, it’s no longer searing and possessive, now appraising, gentle, languid with the afterglow. jongdae opens his mouth against the gentle, gentle pressure of yifan’s lips, kisses warm and lazy and loving. he loses himself in it, basks in it.

another rarity.

yifan pulls away to kiss his nose, his eyebrows, his cheekbone before he urges jongdae up. he lifts him—so so easily—cradling him as he turns him, moves him up their rumpled queen-sized bed. clumsy and a little awkward, yifan drops him onto the mattress. braced over him, he drops a kiss to his chest, and jongdae sighs dramatically. collapsing back with a too-loud sigh, his arms flail out to knock over their baby monitor, upset the framed picture of the first night at the hospital 2 years ago, when they’d first met their children.

jongdae fumbles to right it as yifan settles in beside him, front flush against his back.

yifan, weary as he is, drained with orgasm, he’s careful now, quiet now, soothing now. he traces softly over the raised, hot skin along jongdae’s shoulders, his back, kissing over it, too. jongdae allows himself to be handled, careful, sweet, soft, as if he’s fragile, delicate, too too small. precious, yifan has called him, in those quiet moments when jongdae is too overwhelmed and flustered to kiss him quiet. precious and perfect, everything.

he’s calling him that now, dropping it in quiet, quiet confession to the nape of his neck, his hands smoothing down his sides. reverent, soft.

they have the whole day to themselves, too, should probably do something else to take advantage of this rare occurrence`, but this—this is too nice for the time being. and jongdae lolls back into yifan’s slow, steady caresses.

“i love you,” yifan stamps into his skin. “you’re so precious,” he continues. and jongdae at this point has recovered enough to turn at an awkward angle, kiss him quiet, pliant, whispering “i love you, too” in between lazy, lazy drags of his lips.


End file.
